


All the Devils Are Here

by littleleeds



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 09:18:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/620533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleleeds/pseuds/littleleeds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis Tomlinson lives in a post-apocalyptic world in which the population has ceased to a mere billion people and the Aryan race has taken over. Louis buys another slave for his vast acres of land, but he has no idea what he has gotten himself into when he purchases Harry Styles. In a whirlwind romance with the complications of class difference and racism, can their love possibly survive?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

It is 5 years after the entirety of the North and South American continents were destroyed in a nuclear war known as the Glorious Fire. The bomb that was dropped on the United States seemed to destroy the whole world, leaving destroyed building and thick smog in the air. Once the destruction settled in, and the rest of the world realized that they had survived, one ruler took over all that was left. “Capitalism,” he argued, “destroyed our world.” The Ultimate Leader took over and destroyed everyone who was not of “pure blood,” during what he called the Purification with the help of his Divine Army. After, all that was left was a prime race of noblemen with fair skin, light hair, and light eyes that were known as the Aryans. Women, and the most attractive of the “dirty blood,” were sold into sex or manual labor slaves for the Aryans and forced to live in dirty slums with all of the other slaves, until the one day a month in which the slaves were lined up and sold to the noblemen.   
This is the world in which Louis Tomlinson lives in, with his family dead and the only friends he has are an alcoholic and rage-ridden sex addict. Niall and Liam, respectively, had been his best friends long before the Glorious Fire, but they all had grown closer when almost all of their family had died, and they became some of the richest men in their town. Already being well-off, when Louis’ neighbors were thrown into slums or killed, Louis was free to take all of their land, or barter for it with another noble who lived in the area. Liam had the biggest house, but the least amount of land; he had a habit of spending all of his money on slaves. Niall had the most money, but had chosen to keep what he previously had, which was still quite enough. Louis was the most savvy of them all, and managed to take everything within a two-mile radius after it was all abandoned. He lived in his own community, with only Niall and Liam to keep him company. He kept to himself and never defied the Ultimate Leader or his Divine Army. He didn’t own slaves, and only participated in the occasional cocaine binge with his friends. He was, by anyone’s standards, a well put-together nobleman. Louis lived a lonely life, but he was only unhappy with it at night, surrounded by cold, empty sheets and a cold, empty home. He missed his family, and his friends and being a normal person. He didn’t need the world’s “dirty blood,” bowing down to him or kissing his feet or offering him sex. He just needed a nice cup of tea and a cuddle sometimes, not that he would ever admit it. His friends could see it, but he couldn’t fix it. The only way to find someone was to buy them, and money can’t buy love. Or could it?


	2. Green Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis Tomlinson lives in a post-apocalyptic world in which the population has ceased to a mere billion people and the Aryan race has taken over. Louis buys another slave for his vast acres of land, but he has no idea what he has gotten himself into when he purchases Harry Styles. In a whirlwind romance with the complications of class difference and racism, can their love possibly survive?

Louis Tomlinson stood in his greeting room, watching out his massive front window as dust rose from the streets of Doncaster. His city had been reduced to rubble, but what could he complain about? He lived on top of the world. He owned the biggest plantation in the whole city, next to the Ultimate Leader and the members of the Divine Army. He had wonderful friends, Niall and Liam, and they all ran together through this city, watching as the slaves brought their city’s diminished appearance back to its full glory. Louis Tomlinson lived on top of the world and yet, he sighed deeply, he felt a darkness tugging on his heart. This darkness consumed him at night, alone in bed, as he was left wishing for a strong arm to greet him between his sheets. Liam constantly encouraged Louis to get a slave to sleep with, but Louis always threw the idea immediately from his mind. How could he engage in such behavior, as one of the richest men in the world? People would look down upon him, wouldn’t consider him as “clean,” as everyone else. Liam told him to go downtown and “look at all those tan-skinned slaves,” practically drooling just thinking about it. Louis supposed that everyone had their quirks. He enjoyed most drugs, most wine, but especially cocaine, which Liam often teased him for. “The richest man in this city,” he would say, “Wasting his time with such dirty drugs.” Louis would shoot him dark looks, his blue eyes hooded with anger. Being called dirty was the lowest insult one could offer, but it was also the most common one. Liam’s expression would soften considerably, and he would clap him on his back in a friendly gesture, “At least you don’t have a Muslim boy on your bed each night,” Liam’s eyes glazed over and he swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, “screaming your name for the neighbors to hear.” Louis accepted this as enough of a penance, and they never stayed angry for long. Louis would do a line, Niall would come over with his bottles of the finest liquor, and Liam would boast about his most recent sexual adventure with his favorite slave, Zayn. Louis and Niall always chastised Liam for having a “favorite.” He almost seemed affectionate toward Zayn in the times that Louis had seen them together, and that was by any man’s standards, unacceptable. That’s why Louis never bought slaves. He would get attached, he knew it. He cried into his pillows, the loneliness making his chest ache and his breathing shallow until he could do nothing else. A slave was his only option.  
That is how Louis Tomlinson ended up in the place he had never been before, the slave market. It was manned by more members of the Divine Army than Louis had seen since immediately after the Glorious Fire, where the Ultimate Leader had recruited them all. Louis felt a shiver down his spine at the memory and willed it away, tugging at the gold-plated cuff links on his shirt. He hated going to the slums of the city, seeing slaves living in their tents with dirt coated on top of them in layers; the sight made him feel ill. He made his way down the dirt path to the center of the slum and walked up a flight of stairs which brought him to the top of a large hill, in which you could easily see the whole 5-mile radius of the slums. It was covered in canvas tents, all of them running together from this distance; thick clouds of dirty smoke hung over them, as it did everything since the Glorious Fire. Louis felt sick looking at the sight so he turned back, looking at the makeshift “stage,” in which all of the slaves were presented. He was once against surrounded by people of his own kind, and stood with his posture straight and his face blank, not displaying any real interest in any of the slaves, as if he was just here to watch. He felt a thin sheet of sweat line his brow as the slaves started being brought out and presented to them. Most of them naked or scantily clothed, Louis looked away to preserve at least some of their dignity. His eyes traveled to the left of the wooden platform and looked at the group of slaves that were enclosed by five or six members of the Divine Army. The men seemed to tower over the slaves, as most of them were rich, well-fed, and trained killers. The slaves looked emaciated and weak, too weak to fight against the fate that had been handed to them, as the army members poked them with their machine guns to get them to move up in line. He saw one man coming up the group, holding a thin dark-haired girl who wore just a thin cloth dress, and who was whispering to herself. Suddenly the man struck the girl and ordered her, “Stop that. Your God will be no help to you here.” Louis deduced she must have been praying, and shook his head. He wondered if people would ever stop believing in religion. Even after the world had practically gone to bits, people still waste their time praying to a God who doesn’t exist, in his belief. The only leader they had to answer to was the Ultimate Leader, and Louis knew what he looked like and where he lived. That’s a god to believe in. Louis watched as this girl got thrown into line and continued her whispered conversation with her God, eyeing the space over the soldier’s right shoulder suspiciously. What happened next was beyond Louis’ imagination.  
A tall dark-haired figure, curls strikingly similar to the girl who had just been man-handled, came up quickly behind the member of the army. The boy grasped the soldier by his shoulder and turned him around, which was surprising to Louis because despite the boy being tall, he was a slave after all. He was underfed, seriously by Louis’ standards, and not nearly as built as the man he was now face-to-face with. His chest was bare and Louis could count his ribs with ease. The soldier’s back was to Louis but he had a full view of the boy’s face. He green eyes were piercing, even when they weren’t looking at Louis, and it was obvious by the look on his face that he wasn’t asking the soldier for anything, or offering him thanks, or even coming on to him. He was angry, and he was planning on taking it out right then, on him. “Gemma!” His voice was deeper than Louis expected, and made his hair stand on end. Even in a moment of crisis his voice held some velvety seduction that Louis couldn’t get enough of. He felt himself inching closer to get a better view of the drama, and more importantly, that boy. ‘Green eyes,’ as Louis nicknamed him within the confines of his mind, pushed past the soldier and ran the girl who had originally be put in the line. Most of the congregation had now stopped and were looking at the couple of teens curiously. Louis once again had to assume that the girl was somehow related to him, although family in the slums was very rare. If you lived in the slums, you were lucky to have been spared in the killings, and most likely your family hadn’t been so lucky. Louis could see why these two would have been saved, though. He was sure that they would sell for a lot of money in the slave trade, with their physical appearance still somehow attractive despite the dirt and emaciation.   
The soldier suddenly lurched forward, picking the boy up easily by the neck, squeezing him until he looked as though he was about to break. Louis was not normally a forward person, he usually kept to himself and his two friends, but he took a step out of the pack of people watching the boy being choked. It sickened him how everyone could stand by idly and watch this boy die, with nothing but his pathetic gasps for air echoing through the crowd. Louis stepped forward and cleared his throat, hoping that his suit was still in good condition after traveling through the dirt pathways to get here. He raised his voice and tried to speak with a steady voice, “Stop.” He did not yell, he remained calm and would later admit he was rather proud of his level-headedness in the situation. He wasn’t planning on actually buying a slave today, he lied to himself, but he couldn’t let this boy get killed. He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t let Green Eyes get killed, as he had watched murder in mass amounts during the Purification, but he had some ridiculous feeling within him that he simply had to have this boy. He stepped forward again, now a mere foot or two away from the man holding Green Eyes’ feet inches off the ground. Searching for the bravery within himself, he got up the courage to speak again, “How much?” He motioned his head subtly to the boy and pulled his money clip from the inside of his pocket. The man’s fist extended quickly when he saw the wad of cash, and Green Eyes fell swiftly into the dirt, coughing and choking on the oxygen. Louis moved toward the soldier to discuss the price privately, and the audience quickly refocused their attention on the stage. Louis was sure the only reason he didn’t have to argue and outbid for Green Eyes was because he had just openly defied someone, and no one wants a defiant slave. He was quietly thankful for his luck and impeccable timing, before he handed over three thick bills to the soldier and mumbled something about keeping the change.   
Green Eyes was still panting when he pushed himself up off the ground, not bothering to brush off the excess dirt that had gotten on him. It wasn’t like it mattered much anyway, Louis countered, Green Eyes was already dirty. His blood was dirty. He looked upon the boy with a small amount of pity, before the boy exploded, “You can’t have me,” He took the distance between them in large strides and was mere inches away from Louis’ face when his erotic voice spoke again, “I will never be yours.” Green Eyes pink tongue darted out and ran over his lips, his angelic face still drawn with lines of anger. Louis felt a ridiculous urge to reach out and trace the lines of his face, fascinated by the way Green Eyes’ face contorted with rage but still seemed so innocent. Louis stood in stunned silence; not letting his face display any of his rampant thoughts, before he glanced over his shoulder as the girl called Gemma was sold to a nobleman Louis knew was called John. Green Eyes closed his eyes as if to not let his emotions escape but he whispered her name to himself miserably before clearing his throat and looking straight into Louis’ eyes. The breath stolen from his lungs, Louis just stared back, his eyes swimming through the boys and trying to read him in the heavy hush of whispers behind his back.   
Louis one downfall was his need to keep up his appearance; he was self-conscious and painfully self-aware of his flaws and when he was being talked about. He had a sixth sense, as if he got enhanced hearing when someone whispered his name. He turned around and found multiple sets of eyes staring at him, and the proximity in which he was standing to the boy. Realizing the situation he had just entered into, he cracked under the pressure and swung his hand back, colliding with Green Eyes’ already flushed cheek. The boy stumbled back and looked at Louis, not with anger, but in wonder, as if he was surprised that he had hit him. He cupped his cheek in his hand and tilted his head, the confused expression still written all over his face. Louis pressed his lips in a hard line and took Green Eyes’ bicep in his hand, leading him back toward the stairs so that he could escape the prying eyes of his fellow nobles. He chewed the inside of his cheek nervously before looking over the boy and, leaving his expression blank, he whispered exclusively to him, “What’s your name, boy?” He only locked their eyes for a millisecond, afraid that he would once again be paralyzed by the irises shaded in with pure emerald.   
The boy’s face once again portrayed his confusion. He seemed terribly confused by Louis’ actions and Louis hoped that he wasn’t dim or something, because that would be far too much for him to deal with. His question was answered a moment later when the boy spoke through a clenched jaw, keeping his tone hushed as Louis did, “Harry. My name is Harry, master.”


	3. Styles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis Tomlinson lives in a post-apocalyptic world in which the population has ceased to a mere billion people and the Aryan race has taken over. Louis buys another slave for his vast acres of land, but he has no idea what he has gotten himself into when he purchases Harry Styles. In a whirlwind romance with the complications of class difference and racism, can their love possibly survive?

Harry was growing irritated, and quickly. He realized that for the past five years, his life has been a simple game of “Simon says.” His owners told him to do something, the government told him to go somewhere or live someway, and he had no choice but to do what he was told. For Harry Styles, and every other slave in this god-forsaken country, it was either cooperate or die. Of course there were people who were hot on the idea of liberation; that believed their day of freedom would come, but Harry didn’t hold onto pipe dreams. He wanted to live his life as quickly as he could so it could end, and he could be reunited with the only people that he ever felt anything for, his family. He realized that there was nothing he could do but what he was told, and he accepted that a long time ago. One thing he did not accept was the way that Louis would call him, “Styles.” His name was not a difficult one. It had no silent letters, no popular misspelling. It was so simple he learned his name back in preschool quite a long time before his peers. Harry; it was a simple five-letter, two-syllable name. Each and every time he heard Louis’ voice cry out “Styles,” and heard it echo through the hallway, his skin crawled and he had to clench his jaw in frustration to keep from throwing things. His name was Harry and he wasn’t even completely sure how Louis knew his surname was Styles but he was about to put an end to it right now.   
Walking into the main sitting room, Harry was surprised to find two other men sitting on the loveseat across from Louis. One of them had short, cropped dirty blonde hair with big brown eyes. Although his stature was solid and he looked like he could snap Harry’s emaciated figure in two, his brown eyes seemed overlarge for his face and gave him the general appearance of a golden retriever puppy. The boy sitting next to him, however, contrasted him significantly. His eyes were sunken and filled with an emotion Harry couldn’t quite describe. His jaw and cheekbones were chiseled through his skin and although he was thin, he managed to pull it off nicely; his dark hair and tan skin pulling his rough, sharp features together beautifully. Harry admired them both respectively before fixing his gaze back on his owner, who’s features Harry didn’t particularly like to think about. How does a slave become attracted to their master? The thought made him sick to his stomach before he finally found his husky voice. He cleared his throat and replied, “Yes, master?” He didn’t have the courage to bring up the name topic in front of guests; even he had some discretion. Moving to stand in the center of the room, he watched the boy with puppy dog eyes touch the darker one with a gentle touch around the small of his back curiously. The dynamic between the two boys was something strange that Harry couldn’t quite understand. He could tell there was an obvious class difference between the two, but at the same time their proximity and touching suggested they were lovers. Harry tore his eyes away from them when he realized he was gawking.  
He felt Louis size him up, so he refocused his attention on him and watched as Louis pushed himself up from his sitting position and rocked back and forth on his heels. He motioned to the two boys and introduced them stiffly, seemingly uncomfortable with the situation at hand. Harry couldn’t very much blame him, how do you introduce a slave to your friends? You couldn’t go on and say that it was your slave unless you had zero respect whatsoever for the life that you essentially owned. Harry amused himself slightly on the idea that this could be a test that Louis could easily fail if he wasn’t careful with his manners. His melodic voice seemed more cheerful than his awkward expression as he announced, “Harry, this is my friend Liam,” he motioned to the boy with puppy dog eyes, who looked upon Harry with disdain. He didn’t even get up from his seat to greet Harry, but simply motioned his head in his general direction as if to notify Harry that he did, indeed, see him there; he just didn’t care. Harry clenched his jaw again to keep his temper in check, before eyeing the other boy suspiciously. Louis caught the glance and then scoffed audibly, “That’s Zayn.” His tone was dismissive and Harry pressed his lips together with a curt nod; he understood now. Zayn was obviously a slave that Liam had been sleeping with, and he felt stupid for not picking it up sooner. Louis cleared his throat again and Harry looked to him, noticing that his blue eyes were glassy and his pupils blown; he was high again. “You’re to take Zayn in the kitchen and prepare something for Master Payne and I. We will wait.” Louis motioned them both out of the room as Zayn got up to follow Harry.  
It took a lot for Harry to not laugh loudly at the phrase “Master Payne,” but he managed to get on alright and wait for the other slave to follow behind him into the kitchen. He idly wondered if they were allowed to talk before Zayn started babbling away in an accent that Harry couldn’t quite put his finger on. It sounded British, but perhaps a bit thicker than the ones he was used to. He tried to absorb what the boy was saying, his stomach turning excitedly at the first human interaction outside of Louis that he had in a few weeks, “It’s great to meet you, mate, I’m Zayn.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips and Harry caught a glimpse of what seemed to be perfectly straight, white teeth before he continued, “I know it doesn’t seem it know, but Louis isn’t the prat he makes himself out as.” They arrived in the kitchen and Zayn started riffling through the cabinets as if he lived at the place, and Harry stood by and watched him in silence.  
Thinking hard about what to say next, Harry watched the boy in wonderment. He seemed in good spirits for being stripped of his independence and forced to be a sex slave for someone who went by the name “Master Payne.” Harry coughed awkwardly and attempted to participate in the conversation, “I suppose. Calls me ‘Styles’ a lot, though. It’s quite annoying.” He leaned against the kitchen counter, feeling a bit self-conscious about his clothing. He was wearing a fitted V-neck t-shirt and his collarbones were exposed, showing the tips of inked birds on his chest and a small white-gold crucifix. He could tell by the color and visible ink on the other slave that he did not believe in the same things, and Harry felt strange casually talking about people who owned them as if they were equals, or as if they were friends. He shook the thought from his mind and watched as Zayn began slicing chicken breasts into strips on a cutting board.   
The dark-haired boy cast Harry a sidelong glance, and a half-smile crept up his cheek as his stare bored into Harry, “Likes nicknames, that one.” Zayn chuckled gently but caught himself when he realized that he was laughing in solitary. He turned and faced Harry full-on, crossing his arms with the big slicing knife still gripped in his hands as he prodded the boy, “Pretty lucky,” he motioned the knife in Harry’s general direction as if it were a prop and chided him again, “you’ll see, Styles.” He laughed aloud at his own joke and didn’t seem to mind that it was just him laughing this time, before he went back to slicing up the chicken. Harry just stood quietly at his corner of the counter and reflected on what had just been told to him. He was lucky? He scoffed internally at Zayn. How could anyone think that what his life had become, was luck? Simply because his hair and eyes were dark, that meant he was less of a human being. That was not was Harry would consider luck.   
Realizing the situation he was in, Harry was struck with the fact that if Louis had come in and saw him simply lounging against the counter, he’d be in for it. Louis hadn’t hit him since that first day in the crowds, but Harry had no desire to push him any further. It wasn’t as if it was the worst beating he had ever received, but a part of him had felt an overwhelming sense of disappointment radiating off Louis that day. Although Harry had no feelings of remorse for Louis, he had no desire to be stuck with a sulky Louis all day long, and a throbbing cheek. He closed the distance between himself and Zayn in a few quick strides and rummaged through the freezer, search for freeze dried vegetables to go with the chicken that Zayn was preparing. Harry decided it was better to tackle the mission in silence, but while the vegetables defrosted in the microwave, he could resist the temptation no longer. He turned and faced Zayn, who’s back was still to him, and cleared his throat pointedly. He watched as Zayn placed the knife next to the cutting board and turned around to face him, his expression blank as he waited for whatever it was that Harry had to say. Harry took a deep breath and decided he had nothing to lose as his mumbled, “So, you’re sleeping with Liam, then?” He looked at Zayn sheepishly through his loose curls, and watched as the boy’s face contorted into what looked like absolute humiliation.  
Harry felt guilt coarse through his veins, but before he got a chance to rip the question back from out in the open where he had just thrust it, Zayn nodded quickly and turned back to his chicken, slicing more quickly and then reaching for a skillet to fry them in. He threw the thin slices in one by one and didn’t say anything for a few minutes. The microwave beeped obnoxiously in the silence and Harry went back to tending to them before Zayn finally broke the silence, “Are you fucking Lou? Is that why you’re asking?” It sounded more like an accusation than a question but Harry presumed that his harsh tone was simply because he was defensive over Liam, which was curious. Harry imagined himself lying in bed with Louis and feeling anything but ashamed or angry, and he couldn’t quite grasp the idea. He shook his head vigorously and as he looked into Zayn’s brown eyes, prayed that his portrayed his innocence to the other boy. He assumed that they did, because he nodded and chewed on his bottom lip, looking as though he was considering this. He ventured to break the silence again and stated simply, “That’s what you’re for.” Harry’s gaze dropped to the ground and he felt color rise in his cheeks; he was just another temporary whore. He was just going to get fucked and sold around and it was the sickening cycle that never ended. Harry presumed Louis had done this many times before, and as if reading his thoughts, Zayn shut them down immediately, “He’s never had one before you; a person… to be with him.” Struggling to find the right words to describe them both, he worked around ‘slave.’ As much as they both knew the word to be a true description, neither of them wanted to hear the word out loud. He continued, “He’s just lonely.” Chuckling dryly, Zayn turned the stove off and separated the chicken strips onto two separate plates before reaching out for the vegetables Harry prepared. Harry handed them off without protest and hung on Zayn’s words. As much as he hated his life, his situation; he was curious. How could a person possibly think that they could buy companionship? Zayn said no more, and walked out of the kitchen without further discussion.  
The rest of the night, Harry thought of nothing else except their conversation. Zayn had intrigued him, and he wondered if the reason that Liam had purchased Zayn was because he was lonely, too. He wondered if he and Louis would ever get to the point where Harry could see him as a human being, with real emotions, and therefore feel bad that he had to live a lonely life. Right now, Harry felt nothing further for the man but revulsion; just his name made him sick. He sat in his corner of the basement and spat out his name with disgust, “Louis.” Shaking his head, Harry sat down on his cot and rested his head in his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. He took a shaky breath as his eyes welled with tears and he finally let himself feel the only emotion he had left. Unfortunately for Harry, the only person who could make this feeling go away was his sister and God only knew where Gemma was now. Sobs wracked his lanky body as his thoughts drifted to his sister and their plans to run away together and escape slavery. They were going to get away, to a different continent, and be free to live their lives for the rest of their time. Their plan of course didn’t work, as the time to escape came and passed, and they had both been resold to new owners. Harry sniffled harshly against the dry air and wiped at his eyes, leaning back uncomfortably on the stiff cot. He tried not to think about anything as he hiccupped miserably in his bed, but he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe this feeling that was overwhelming him right now, was what had drawn Louis to the idea of buying a slave. Maybe, he needed Harry. Maybe they had more in common than Harry had given a chance to figure out. Then again, he stole Harry’s independence and didn’t give a damn what Harry wanted, so it could really go either way. He fisted the thin cotton blanket in frustration and pushed the thoughts away from his mind, willing himself to sleep since it had been hours since Louis had requested to see him.  
Ten minutes into his attempts to fall asleep, he was thwarted. He had jinxed himself by saying that it had been hours, because he heard the heavy footsteps of Louis stomping above him, and then coming around the corner, and then at the foot of the door. He waited in darkness for the door to open, and saw the sliver of light before he head Louis’ voice. Despite his hatred, Harry closed his eyes and let the high octaves of Louis’ voice wash over him, and for a split second he felt at ease. That was, until the words that Louis had said registered in his mind and he realized that he might just vomit then on the spot, “Harry, I’d like you to come upstairs and stay with me tonight…” He heard something else mumbled beneath the elder’s breath, but it was too low for Harry to hear. At least, he reasoned, he had called him Harry.


End file.
